Ordinary Everyday
by WeatherWatch
Summary: "I may have tried to order the bartender."    Multiple characters. Moments inspired by Texts From Last Night.
1. Afternoon Delight

**Disclaimer: Anything HP is JKR, and the following excerpt is from Texts From Last Night. I have combined both for amusement and fun, and benefit in no way from doing this – other than the satisfaction of having written it.**

**OoOoO**

(720): Someone obviously heard us on their way to class. They stopped at my door and started singing afternoon delight.

"**Afternoon Delight"**

Draco Malfoy was not a patient man.

But he was profoundly less so when his supposed best mate couldn't stop goggling at him as if he had just grown a second head.

"Would you stop staring at me and say something?"

Blaise closed his gaping mouth, but shook his head disbelievingly. "I'm sorry, it's – just – I can't believe you – I mean, this is crazy! How long has this been going on?"

"Four and a half months."

Blaise brought a hand up to his face, incredulous. "You've been banging Granger for four and a half months and no-one has noticed? How is that even possible? You have the subtlety of an elephant."

"Thanks." Draco said drily, folding his arms.

Blaise looked up at him again.

"But you know what?" The dark-skinned Slytherin added. "Kudos to you, mate. She might be an irritating know-it-all, but her body is gorgeous, her skin is clear, and her-"

"Yes, I'd stop there, if I were you." Draco interrupted loudly as he saw his friend's hands rising in the direction of the chest area. Blaise just smirked.

There was a small silence, but it was short lived.

"So," Blaise said, "Is the bookworm good in the sack?"

Draco cuffed him around the back of the head.

"Ow!" Blaise yelped, clutching his abused head, "Fine – keep it to yourself."

Suddenly, he smiled smugly. "At least I know where you've vanishing to during breaks. Pansy's been going spare; she was certain you told her everything." His glinted mischievously, and he crowed, "Oh, I'm going to have fun teasing her with this news! She'll hate that you told me first."

"I didn't tell you first – you snuck into the Head rooms!" Draco pointed out, and Blaise nodded in agreement with a fond smile, as if he was remembering something nice.

"And what a surprise I did find." He answered. "Did I ruin the mood?" He added through falsely lidded eyes.

It was Draco's turn to smirk. "Not at all. I think she quite liked the audience, actually. She's remarkable adventurous in bed. Or you know, the floor, the wall, the couch-"

Blaise sniggered, but protested weakly, "Oh, man, I sit on that couch! Now it's defiled!"

"Someone obviously heard us on their way to class, though." Draco added then, only a little sourly. "They stopped at the door and started singing 'afternoon delight'."

Blaise's laughter bubbled over, and he threw his head back, not caring in the slightest whether Draco was glaring at him or joining in. After a moment or two, he pulled himself together and clapped his mate on the shoulder. "Well, I hope you're happy. Apologise to Granger for the interruption earlier, will you?"

With a grin he set off down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, "You might want to talk to Theo about his eavesdropping habits, too."

Draco's brows furrowed in confusion, and then his eyes widened comically as realisation dawned. Blaise just laughed and continued on his merry way.

**End.**

**Please Read and Review like a Responsible Reviewer.**


	2. Drinks Mishap

(240): And then I have a slight inkling that I went up to the bar and tried to order the bartender.

"**Drinks Mishap"**

Hermione had a distinctly green glow to her features when she arrived via Apparition at Grimmauld Place on a lovely Sunday morning. She steadied herself on the door before knocking and then letting herself in. The knock itself was mostly a warning, so that any 'extra-curricular activities' could be halted or, at the very least, the guest fore-warned.

Thankfully, it seemed to be only the two boys home today; Harry was sitting at the table reading a newspaper, and Ron had answered the door without a shirt again, his hair still wet from showering. Hermione avoided inspecting his naked torso too thoroughly, lest she be unable to pull her eyes away from the enticing grooves at his hips.

"Morning, Hermione." Ron greeted with a smile. "Alright, there? You look a bit ill."

"M'fine." She responded weakly, but then seemed to rethink her answer before leaning over the fence and throwing up behind the flowering bush.

"Liar." Ron told her and turned back to the house. "Harry, can you get a Hangover Potion and a Pepper-up?"

Harry didn't reply, but the tell-tale clinking of his search rang out as Ron held back Hermione's hair.

"Shall we move this inside?" Ron asked casually once she'd cleared the contents of her stomach and he'd vanished the mess (he'd thought perhaps it would do the plants some good, but the smell won out and he'd gotten rid of it instead).

Harry's look of amusement didn't waver, even when the bushy-haired girl glared dangerously at him, as he handed over the two potions. She sculled them quickly, and her features relaxed slowly as her colour returned to a more normal shade.

"So," Harry hedged, leaning against the table edge while Ron set about making his own breakfast. "Want to tell us about last night?"

"Remind me to never go out with Lavender again." Hermione murmured, her head resting on the wood. "She's wonderful, but never again!"

Twin expressions of mirth appeared, but were quickly schooled. Hermione was wide-awake now, and her capabilities with a wand were well-known, especially to Harry and Ron. She raised her head up ad looked around.

"Any tea going? I think I'm going to need it." She explained, and Ron turned to busy himself with the task to hide the smile on his face.

"Last night was simultaneously the best and worst night ever." She said after a minute. "I mean, from what I can remember, anyway."

Harry leant forward in interest. "Don't tell me you got that drunk?"

"I wish I could, I _really_ wish I could."

Harry barked out a laugh.

"Oh, Hermione. With Lavender and Ginny, too. What trouble did they get you into?" He asked sympathetically.

"Not as much as you'd have thought, actually." The brunette admitted, sipping her tea as Ron joined them at the table. "We did some dancing, had some drinks – I'm pretty sure there was karaoke competition at one point, and maybe a few shots at the-"

She stopped mid-sentence.

"What?" Harry asked, green eyes alight with curiosity as Hermione's face paled.

"Oh Merlin, I'm never going to be able to go back there!" She cried in dismay, clearly remembering some hazy moment from the previous night. "We'd been at the bar for ages, drinking shots, and we'd run out so Lavender told me to order something else."

She paused again, grimacing as she turned to face Harry.

In a weak voice she murmured, "I have a slight inkling that I went up to the bar and tried to order the bartender."

Despite their best efforts, or rather because they didn't bother employing them, both boys burst into laughter at Hermione's plight. She groaned and sunk down in her chair, blushing profusely.

When they didn't show signs of stopping, she huffed good-naturedly, "I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

Between shaky breaths and barks of laughter, Ron agreed - vehemently.

**End.**


	3. Behavioural Studies

(540): Is it bad that when he gave examples of 'stalking' behaviour, I either have done or would do most of them?

"**Behavioural Studies"**

The fifth year students were exiting the Great Hall in a bustle of conversation and laughter, having enjoyed the talk by the two guest speakers from the Auror department. A flame haired girl and a round faced blonde gathered their books and trailed the others out, beginning the climb to the Divination classroom with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

"Auror McAlistair was very good, didn't you think." Lily Evans asked her friend.

"You just liked him because he gave you some new ideas to dissuade Potter." Alice answered knowingly, bumping her hip against the other girl.

"I did not!" Lily protested, but Alice just raised an eyebrow and countered, "S.I.N.G."

"I saw your eyes light up." She added before the red head could deny it again. "You were memorising it, I could tell. You practically begged him to let you try it."

"Solar Plexus, Instep, Nose, Groin." Lily conceded quietly, smiling evilly as she finished. "Precocious Potter and his pet moron won't know what hit them."

"I'm pretty sure the teachers don't support violence, Lily." Alice noted drily, rolling her eyes. The war between the red headed girl, James Potter and his best mate Sirius Black had been ongoing since first year and it didn't appear to have an end in sight – nor was there a clear winner, despite the two-on-one advantage. "Anyway, I was more interested in Jamison. He was a right looker – all muscle and tan and blue eyes. I'd like to take an invisibility cloak into his bedroom."

The blonde smirked, clearly imagining that image, but then paused in her speech, appearing to be deep in thought. Cocking her head to the side, she finally asked in an innocent voice, "Is it bad that when he gave examples of 'stalking behaviour', I have done or would do most of them?"

Lily snorted out a laugh in a very unladylike manner.

"I wouldn't advertise that." She replied, her voice laced with amusement. "Oh Alice, you make me feel so very sane sometimes – I hope Frank knows you're a nutter."

Alice blushed, but smiled nonetheless. "He should. I might have tailed him for two years, but eventually he cottoned on."

"You're crazy," Lily laughed, shoving Alice towards the ladder that was the entrance to the classroom. "But you're also the single most entertaining friend I could ever have."

**The End.**

**You know what to do.**


	4. Children's Games

(912): You know you were refereeing rock, paper, scissors for who got to make out with your sister, right?

"**Children's Games"**

Neville watched Dean lead Ginny Weasley away from the crowded area, ignoring the cat calls and rowdiness that had erupted. Seamus looked a little disappointed, but the expression only lasted for a handful of seconds and the cheeky Irishman was back to normal, a flirtation already struck up with Lavender, who giggled at the attention and seemed to preen under it.

And then Ron was laughing beside him, and Neville had to occasionally push the gangly red head off his shoulder as he kept falling against it in his inebriated state. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn't so strange really. The noise didn't agree with him anymore. He just wanted peace and quiet.

"Havvehfaawhisky." Ron told Neville joyously in his drunken condition, sloshing some of his own down the blue shirt. "Join in the fez- fest- join in the fun!"

Neville leant backwards, trying to avoid the Firewhiskey's immediate line of fire. "No thanks."

"Come on!" Ron pleaded. "It's great."

"You know you were refereeing rock, paper, scissors for who got to make out with your sister, right?" Neville asked slowly and clearly, staring his old dorm-mate in his rather bleary, unfocused eyes, trying to garner a reaction.

Ron looked confused for a whole five seconds, before smiling and redirecting the conversation to Quidditch without so much as a flicker of outrage. The red-head was clearly hammered. Neville sighed, and stood up.

He was going to find Harry – and hopefully a normal conversation.

**The End,**

**Just a short one: poor Neville. So many crazy drunks, and he just wants a bit of peace and quiet.**


	5. Family Friends

(404): So I got a little messed up on the punch and made out with the family friend - which is, apparently, morally reprehensible. I don't get that.

"**Family Friends"**

"I still don't understand what the problem is," Victoire complained to her friend Henrietta as they meandered through the clothes store. "I mean, they should be grateful we're not related. The Weasley branches have expanded into practically every Wizarding household these days."

"I think the issue might have been more your lucidity than your partner." Henrietta replied, serving the pale pink haired girl with a disapproving stare.

"So I got a little sloshed on the punch, whatever!" Victoire answered nonchalantly. "They still weren't happy about Teddy and me – they think of him as family. Anyway, it was James who spiked it. Why isn't he in more trouble?"

"James is good at avoiding the consequences of his actions." Henri explained, and held up a red dress. "What do you think of this one?"

"It's pretty, I like it. I'm going to try on the yellow one and the deep blue one." She said, leading the way to the change rooms, her friend trailing behind. Continuing their discussion through the cubicles, Henri mentioned thoughtfully, "Mr Potter didn't seem to mind very much, and he's Teddy's godfather as well as your uncle."

"Great, that makes one adult." Victoire said sarcastically, but her voice contained a joking tone. "Imma get the blue dress, I think."

The faint sing-song voice of Henri floated into her cubicle, "And that's nothing to do with blue being his favourite colour."

She ignored the bait, redressing and going to the counter to pay for the delicate outfit.

They left the shop having added two bags to their already extensive purchases, and as they crossed over the street a young male voice called out Henrietta's name. Recognising it, she turned, a bright smile painted on her face.

"Nicodemus! It's been ages."

Giving the new boy a hug, she pulled back and slapped his arm playfully. "You were supposed to write me these holidays."

"I'm supposed to write every holiday, but I haven't ever, so I don't know why you'd possibly think I might start now." He replied, brushing floppy brown hair from his dark eyes. "Hey Vic."

"Wood." Victoire smiled fondly at him. Nicodemus Wood was the son of the former Puddlemere United Keeper Oliver Wood, the man who introduced Harry Potter to Quidditch. He was the friendliest lout she'd ever met, and possibly the most outrageous, and he had a freakish tendency to be able to hone in on the things that irritated people and then make said irritation a fond endearment for the other person. In her case, it had been the nickname. She'd abhorred it when people called her Vic, but for some reason, coming from Nico, it didn't bother her at all.

"Retail therapy, I see." He noted, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Of course." Henri answered. "The Weasleys had a party, and our friend, here, found the liquid courage."

Nico's brows flew towards his hairline.

"I got a little messed up on the punch and made out with the family friend," Victoire clarified, scowling at her best friend before turning back to Nico, "which is, apparently, morally reprehensible. I don't get that."

The boy looked amused. "Could it be that they all think of you as one big happy family? I know Teddy's considered a Potter, anyway."

"How did you know I was talking about Teddy?"

"Oh, please! Who else would it be?" Nico argued fairly. "It explains why all the adults would find it so 'morally reprehensible', and besides, I can read you like a book: you've been panting after him for years!"

"I have not!" Vic denied loudly, but her two companions shared a knowing look that suggested otherwise. She glared at them. "You're both awful."

Nico laughed her half-hearted insult away.

"Come on, Vic, I'll make it up to you with ice-cream." He said, and wrapped an arm around each girl, leading them to Florean Fortescue's ice-creamery where he pacified them both with Old English Toffee, Chocolate, and Raspberry sundaes.


	6. Next Generation

(850): When did we get so old that our friends started having legitimate children?

"**Next Generation"**

The fourth baby shower in as many weeks found Seamus sitting by the ancient oak tree, looking out over the vast outdoor area of Ron and Hermione's cottage home where Teddy Lupin and Victoire Delacour-Weasley were chasing gnomes, and the other guests mingled in summery clothes. He glanced up as Dean wandered over.

"Deano." He greeted with a small salute of the beverage and handed his oldest friend a bottle of muggle beer. "Enjoying the celebration?"

"It's not too bad. The food's spectacular – Mrs Weasley outdoes herself every time." Dean affirmed with a fond smile. "But it's still a little strange. I mean, Hermione Granger, know-it-all homework-helper and Ron are having a baby."

Seamus grunted in agreement. "Tell me about it. When did we get so old that our friends started having legitimate children?"

Dean laughed. "And here we are, still bachelors. We'd better get a move on, mate."

"It won't be my turn anytime soon." Seamus retorted, with a quick shake of his head. "I'm having a lovely time with the ladies, regardless of the length of our relations."

Dean looked at him for several moments, observing how the Irishman seemed to subconsciously follow a certain blonde as she socialised with the others, joining the congregation of people near the main table.

"It's going to hit you like a ton of bricks." He murmured too quietly for Seamus to hear and sculled the remains of his beer before standing up and gesturing to the growing group of people.

"Come on, bachelor-boy, let's go see what's happening."

**The End.**

**Seamus is such a cool kid. It's mostly because he's Irish. You can't really deny it. Please, do your duty as a reader!**


	7. Two Birds

(214): Probably shouldn't have written that paper while wasted, its starts with once upon a time.  
(972): I tried to stop you but you kept shouting "two birds with one stone!"

"**Two Birds"**

"The old bird's going to murder me." Seamus murmured forlornly as he sat at breakfast, surrounded by noisy Gryffindor's and the other fifth years. He winced at a particularly loud shriek that came from the mouth of a deceptively small, docile looking first year.

Dean was covering his toast with a generous serving of jam, a look in his eyes that just oozed schadenfreude.

"You seem a bit faint, Seamus." Harry grinned, sliding onto the bench opposite the pair. "Partied a bit too hard last night, did you?"

Seamus groaned, dropping his head to the wooden table. The Gryffindor celebrations for their victory over Hufflepuff had lasted well into the following morning.

"He's anticipating McGonagall's death sentence." Dean informed the trio. Ron barked out a laugh, helping himself to a pile of bacon, and Hermione sent a disapproving look towards them at the complete exaggeration they had made about her favourite teacher.

"What did you do?" The red head asked.

"Let's just say," the Irishman said, "that I probably shouldn't have written the essay while sloshed; it starts with 'once upon a time'."

"I tried to stop you but you kept shouting 'two birds with one stone!'" Hermione admonished him as the others burst into raucous laughter. She appeared torn between laughter and horror, unable to fathom doing an assignment so poorly, but amused at Seamus' plight despite herself.

"There's still time." She relented, feeling sorry enough for him that help had to be offered. "I'll go over it and see if there's a chance to salvage it during History of Magic."

"You're a doll, Hermione." Seamus responded gratefully, looking as though he might hurdle the table and kiss her. "Don't let anyone tell you anything else."

The curly-haired witch rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless, before stealing one of Harry's rolls.

**Is it bad that I can very, very easily envisage Seamus being like this/doing something like this? Hahaha.**


	8. Probability Games

(918): We're starting "No Hesitation Fridays." The probability of this going horribly is between 100 to 125 percent.

"**Probability Games"**

The Auror Headquarters were bustling, with a number of new recruits shuffling through paper work that their old counterparts had refused to look at, and the Golden Trio were all sitting in Harry Potter's office cubicle, varying looks of excitement and reservation on their faces.

"We're starting 'No Hesitation Fridays.'"

Hermione looked doubtfully at her two oldest friends. She'd been working in the Department of Mysteries since they began their training, and now both were full Aurors while she was slowly climbing the ladder of success, having preferred not to take the elevated route offered to her as a War Heroine, but this was by far the most distressing thing she'd heard from their mouths since the Final Battle.

"The probability of this going horribly is between a hundred to a hundred and twenty five percent." Harry continued, not assuaging her fears at all. "But we're pretty sure nothing will be irreversible."

Zacharias Smith's head popped up several cubicles over on their left, adding philosophically, "And if it is, well, it's not like the Medi-Witches don't expect us in there on at least a bi-weekly basis. I know Healer MacIntyre likes to see me." He finished with a wink. His last remark was delivered a smart high-five by Wayne Hopkins, who occupied the mirroring cubicle, making both men laugh. Even Ron looked a little amused.

Hermione rubbed her temple.

"I'm not helping you in this." She warned them. "You can dig your own way out of these messes – you're all adults now."

"You sound so sure we'll get into them." Ron commented with a smile, running a hand through his red hair as he rested against the desk. Hermione merely raised a brow, arms akimbo in a stance that resembled, quite thoroughly, that of Mrs Weasley.

"Alright, so it's more than likely we will." Harry conceded with a grin, locking his hands behind his head as he leaned back in the swivel chair. "But it'll be a riot."

"I think I'll try to take Fridays off from now on." The brunette witch murmured by way of answering, looking between her two best friends, before then heading back to her own department with a shake of her head and a small prayer to Merlin.

**Please, Read & Review like a Responsible Reviewer!**


	9. Meet the Parents

(416): I apparently took a 45 minute shower, and became best friends with his mum.

"**Meet the Parents"**

Scorpius only had a vague recollection of the past twenty four hours. He also knew only two things about his current whereabouts: that somebody had dreadful taste in music, and that the house smelt of raspberries.

Racking his brains, as he lay in the big double bed with his feet by the headboard, he tried to deduce his location. The last thing he remembered was clutching Rose's ankle in a drunken embrace as she Disapparated from somewhere large, bright and friendly – Albus Potter's house? That could mean he was at the Weasley household. There were both ups and downs to this discovery, because he'd received mixed receptions from this particular branch of the red headed family tree when entering their daughter's friend group. For example:

Con – Ronald Weasley, Rose's father, had a completely irrational dislike of him.

Pro – her mother, Hermione Weasley, was a keen philanthropist, a superior witch to most, and a very good conversationalist on topics he actually enjoyed discussing.

Con – Hugo liked to wear eye-liner, and (he assumed from the din next door) liked to listen to dreadful bands at full volume.

Pro – Rose still had his jacket, a pair of his sneakers, and one of his Quidditch gloves, which he could now steal back.

Of course, this was all only relevant should he be at Rose's house. Otherwise he had no idea where he was or what he was going to do when he wandered downstairs and ran into the house's inhabitants.

At least he was still dressed.

Smoothing the clothes as best he could, Scorpius Malfoy checked himself in the mirror before determinedly heading down to the kitchen, following the smell of raspberry muffins.

"Good morning Scorpius." Hermione said casually, sounding completely unsurprised at his presence in her house. "How's your head? There's Sober-Up above the oven if you want some."

"No, thanks." He answered, taken aback by her nonchalant comment. "I'm fine."

"That's good. Rosie often has a raging headache the next day." She pulled the oven open and prodded one of the delicious looking muffins, checking if it was ready. Deciding it was, she tugged them out and deposited them all on a cooling rack. "You'll be glad to know Ron isn't home. He would've had a fit coming home to see you in our bed."

She smirked at him when he blanched.

"Your… bed?"

"Don't worry, young Malfoy. I was at the Potters' last night, so it wasn't a problem." She placated him, patting him lightly on the shoulder as she passed him to sit at the table. "It might have given Ron a shock though, if he'd gotten home earlier than planned." She grinned evilly, sharing a conspiratorial look with the blond.

Scorpius' face went several shades paler just thinking about that chance.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "speaking of the Potters, how much do you remember of last night?"

Scorpius guiltily looked over at her, grimacing as he replied, "Not a lot."

"Well, don't be surprised if Ginny is friendlier towards you next time you see he-"

"Oh my God! I seduced Harry Potter's WIFE?" Scorpius cried out in panicked voice, his hands flying to his face.

Hermione shot him an exasperated glare. "No! Of course not! You had a long chat, is all…"

"Praise Merlin." He murmured, sinking into a chair with obvious relief.

"After the three quarter of an hour shower you decided to take after eating most of the garlic bread."

"Wow…" Scorpius mumbled, unable to say anything else. "Wow. I'm going to stick to Butterbeer next time."

Any further comments were stalled by Rose's staggered entrance that began with a thump as she blindly swayed into the kitchen via the door frame, hands clamped over her eyes, groaning and bemoaning all and sundry as she dug out the Sober-Up from the cupboard.

With a big gulp she swallowed it, grimaced at the taste before employing a choice curse word, and then took a look around her, freezing as she realised her mother was standing right in front of her. With Scorpius.

"Morning." She said warily, smiling guiltily.

"Yes, good morning, Rose." Hermione replied. "I think I'll choose to ignore your language this once – last night was quite the party."

With an amused look at Scorpius she went to occupy herself in another room. Rose's eyes followed her out.

"What was that?" The red head asked, rounding on her friend in confusion bordering panic. "She- she just left it at that? She didn't even – what is going on? Did you-with-mum?" Her eyes were wide, and Scorpius realised suddenly what she meant by the garbled sentence.

"NO!" He denied vehemently, waving his arms as if to ward off the accusation. "I didn't do anything like that, I swear!"

"Oh, thank Merlin." She seemed to shrink with the relief. "What did she mean, about last night being 'quite the party'? What did you tell her about Al's?"

"I told nothing, she told me," Scorpius explained. "I apparently took a forty-five minute shower, and became best friends with his mum."

The snort that Rose deigned to give was about as ladylike as a tractor. Scorpius frowned in disdain. He hated when other people snorted. It was so vulgar.

"You're making a habit of this, you know." Rose commented idly, trying not to laugh in his face. "First, Mum, then Oliver Wood, now Ginny Potter. You've got a whole arsenal of friends in high places these days."

"Quiet, you." Scorpius roused half-heartedly. He couldn't really deny it though; he was slowly getting on first name terms with all his friend's parents. It wasn't his fault people loved him.

Rose smirked, and Scorpius thought she might well have known exactly what he'd just been thinking.


	10. Unusual Adornments

(508): Since when do you wear a bracelet?  
(603): Not a bracelet. Half a pair of handcuffs.

"**Unusual Adornments"**

"Make room!" James Sirius Potter, eldest son of Harry and Ginny, demanded at the Gryffindor table one November morning, elbowing his cousin out of the way as he grabbed an apple for later and stacked his plate full.

"Shove off, James." Fred said, cuffing him around the back of the head (which started a small Weasley-Potter head-cuff war that reached all the family members in the vicinity). Professor Vector called out a warning, quelling the intra-family violence.

"Nick's scheduled another practice before the game." Rose announced to the group, gesturing to Oliver Wood's middle child, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "Seven o'clock."

"Brilliant. I want to try out that trick of Kru-"

"Since when do you wear a bracelet?" Fred interrupted in bewilderment, pointing at the silver band around the eldest Potter's wrist that had moved into his view when the fifth year had reached for yet another hash brown.

"Not a bracelet." James informed them through a mouthful of bacon and eggs. "Half a pair of handcuffs."

Only Lils looked unsurprised. In fact, her comment was delivered in so blasé a manner it caused even James to gaze over at her with an expression that wouldn't have been out of place on a kicked puppy.

"Not shocked, really. I always knew you'd be the first one arrested - bound to happen really."


	11. Life Saver

**A little Dramione, anyone?**

(512): And then you yelled "Out of the way, I'm a lifeguard!" and everyone let us through.

"**Life Saver"**

Hermione was spreading jam on a piece of toast when a slender white hand reached around and nabbed it from her. She spun around with an 'oi', and grabbed for it, but the blond man was quick, darting back and lifting it up in the air – too high for her five foot five frame.

"So," Draco said, chewing thoughtfully. "Care to fill me in on the details of last night? I can't recall a damned thing from after Theo went home."

He and Hermione had attended a Ministry function until about ten-thirty, when the brunette had finally gotten irritated by the old wizards that still thought her a bit of a fifteen minutes of fame kind of girl, whereupon they met up with a number of Draco's old Slytherin acquaintances for a venture to some more modern bars.

"I'm not at all shocked to hear that." Hermione responded wryly. "You were drinking like a fish!"

"Hey, now, pot calling the kettle black." Draco argued, leaning close to her as he whispered against her ear, "I seem to remember you _imbibing_ just as much."

Hermione's body responded traitorously to his closeness and her eyes flickered shut.

"Tease." She breathed as he pulled back. Draco merely smirked.

"You were reminding me of last night's events, Little Witch."

She scowled at the nickname, but complied when he pressed a kiss to her forehead; she loved the feeling of his lips on her temple. It made her feel safe and loved.

"We were stuck in the queue for about forty-five minutes, and then one of the girls up the front fainted, so the wait was going to be even longer-"

"I have a vague recollection of you complaining about something along those lines…" Hermione cleared her throat and he gestured for her to continue, sitting on the table-top.

"And then you yelled 'Out of the way, I'm a lifeguard!' and everyone let us through." She stated with a raised brow, observing his reaction.

"Really?" He sounded intrigued, and a little taken aback. Pulling the diminutive witch forward to stand between his parted knees, he traced light circles along her sides without realising as she continued.

"Yes, well, it surprised me too – you're so pale you're reflective! Not the most common look on a lifeguard." She told him with smile. "But that aside, you got us to her, and then used all your subtlety to ennervate her without revealing the wand up your sleeve, and we were immediately let in through the VIP entrance." Hermione finished, eyes laughing as she played with the soft hair at the nape of Draco's neck. He smiled, cat-like, and looped his hands around her slim waist.

Nothing was said for several moments.

"What about _after_ that?" Draco prompted in a voice as smooth as velvet.

"Mmm? After that?" Hermione said sassily, hooking her fingers behind his neck. "I can't quite remember, I think I might need a demonstration, Mr Life Guard."

"Oh, you'll get one." Draco breathed – his eyes full of promise – as he slid from the table and kissed her full on the mouth.

**Five days 'til Christmas! **

**Read and Review like a Responsible Reader, please.**


	12. Upside Down

(302): I woke up this morning with my shirt on upside down.  
(1-302): You mean inside out.  
(302): No, upside down. I ripped the neck hole in the process of getting it around my waist.

"**Upside Down"**

"We need to stop partying like this, mate."

"Don't be such a pansy, Adrian."

"Says the one who turned down a Quidditch contract with the Falmouth Falcons because his girlfriend thought they played dirty."

"They do!"

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"I never-"

"1993, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, game three – chaser unconscious thanks to being herded into a supporter's tower; 1990, Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, game seven – Keeper's nose broken, wrist sprained – I can name more, Marcus, they're just the ones that come to mind straight away."

"Fine. I may have performed some borderline illegal moves, but-"

"But nothing, you're turning Hufflepuff in your old age. Anyway, back to me and my problems. I can't keep up with this partying lifestyle anymore. I woke up this morning with my shirt on upside down."

"You mean inside out."

"No, upside down. I ripped the neck hole in the process of getting it around my waist."

Marcus Flint looked disbelievingly at his oldest friend. "How is that even possible?"

"Drinking excessive amounts of Firewhiskey doesn't usually leave room for logic. I forced it on."

Marcus snickered at his mate, ignoring the irritated glare directed at him. "If I buy you another shirt, will you shut up about this 'no-partying' nonsense?"

"Make it two shirts and a bottle of Ogden's and I'm silenced." Adrian bartered, watching as Marcus weighed up the deal.

"Done, you absolute mork."

**Wheee, I like Adrian and Marcus. They're cool kids. **


	13. Sledding

(585): Any interest in drunk sledding later? If not, any interest in driving me to the hospital later?

"**Sledding"**

The festive atmosphere had penetrated even the most serious of Departments in the British Ministry of Magic, with small floating bells soaring through the corridors, pestering the memos that were still working by jingling and blocking their routes. Hermione Granger was seated at her desk, her cubicle sparingly decorated with a sprig of holly and a thin rope of red and gold tinsel, working diligently on a pile of forms for her supervisor.

Attendance was low, only three others were in the office with her – Justin Finch-Fletchly an old year-mate from Hogwarts, an ancient wizard who'd been with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures probably since its inception, and a slightly older woman by the name of Maude who liked to complain about her daughter's husband – so the area was quiet, punctured only on occasion by a singing memo or the tinkering bells that played carols until somebody lost their cool and hexed them.

A punctilious employee of the Ministry, Hermione had managed to put all festive thoughts out of her mind; she wasn't worried about gifts (everything had been bought already), lunch and dinner were set (the turkey was plenty large enough to feed all it needed to, the cranberry sauce was made, and Molly was in charge of the pudding they'd be consuming after dinner), and she certainly wasn't thinking about a certain brown haired man with hazel eyes that she could lose hers-

Hermione shook her head.

Concentrate, she scolded herself lightly. There's time enough for daydreaming after work – not that you'll have to then, she reminded herself with a naughty little smirk.

No, Hermione Granger definitely wasn't thinking about the dashing former Slytherin with magic hands and a voice that ran like silk over her senses. Not even a little bit.

Unfortunately, while she was busy not thinking of Adrian Pucey, a bright white ethereal shape bounded in through the doors of the department – a fox Patronus that she recognised all too well.

"Any interest in drunk sledding later? If not, any interest in driving me to the hospital later?"

The fox conveyed the message in the smooth voice of its caster before fading into nothingness, and Hermione fought the urge to bash her head on the desk. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried to not think about Adrian, he was always able to force himself into her mind. And it was always with something completely unbelievable. Like now.

She looked up to see Justin smiling amusedly at her from over his cubicle wall.

"So," the former Hufflepuff asked cheekily, "Drunk-sledding, eh, Hermione? Better make sure you aren't caught by the police- your record would be ruined."

His only answer was a scowl, but the man just laughed and went back to his work, no doubt eavesdropping to hear her reply.

Casting the Patronus spell for herself, the familiar otter frolicked in the air around her fondly, Hermione informed it, "Tell this to Adrian Pucey: No, I will not be partaking in drunk sledding, and if you dismember yourself in anyway whilst participating yourself, you won't be getting a certain special something from me on Christmas morning – just a bit of forewarning for you, Adrian."

By the time the otter completed its message and disappeared, Adrian had changed his mind, Apparated home to the flat he shared with Hermione, and had prepared two steaming hots mugs of cocoa with shortbread at the side.

**It's nearly Christmas! I wish all you dear readers a fabulous Saturday (whether you be celebrating Christmas or not) and a Happy New Year.**

**Please, Read and Review like a Responsible Reader.**


	14. Moustache

(480): How creepy of a moustache can you grow by Wednesday night?

"**Moustache"**

James Sirius heard the front door of his parent's house slam shut but waited patiently in his room for the visitor to make themself known rather than climb out of bed to bid them welcome. Whoever the intruder was, they were clearly unaffected by his lack of enthusiasm to pull himself out of bed and, following several thumping steps along the hallway, his door was flung open to reveal a head of vibrant red curls and a pair of intense blue eyes set in a pretty face that ran into a slender swan-neck and a toned, lithe body.

"Jemmy," the girl announced authoritatively with her hip jutted out, oblivious to the fact that the eldest Potter child was lying half-naked in his bed, an arm flung over his eyes, "How creepy of a moustache can you grow by Wednesday night?"

There was a groan that may have been a response of sorts, but the newcomer didn't acknowledge it, instead grabbing a-hold on the crumpled duvet and with an almighty tug ripped the cover off him.

"ARRRGNYAH – what are you doing, crazy woman?" James cried in outrage, flailing around in shock before falling out of the bed. Thankfully, he had boxers on, or Lucy Weasley would have been scarred for life (at least, she would have been, had she any inhibitions).

"I need some help," she said with a shrug, plonking herself casually onto the corner of the bed, "and you can give it to me."

"And you couldn't come asking for it at a normal hour, like after lunch?"

"Sorry, time is of the essence – I needed to get to you before you shaved," Lucy grinned, crossing her long legs as her cousin looked up at her with a half-hearted scowl. It lasted all of half a minute before he finally gave up his irritated demeanour.

"What's the problem, cherry-bomb?" He prodded using the nickname he and Al had starting calling her at Hogwarts after being present for several verbal explosions. In retaliation she'd called them Jemmy and Asp ever since, but the annoyance had bled into fondness now as the three hit their maturity.

"There's a fellow – a new guy – who just can't take a hint," she explained, "and I figured, hey, Jamesie owes me a few favours, why not get him to help me out? So, Wednesday night, moustached as you can get, we're going out and hitting the circuit. You're posing as my boyfriend so this tosser can finally get it through his thick head that I'm not available for him. You have free reign to hit him as you see fit."

James moved to interject something, but Lucy held a hand up to silence him. "Drinks are on me, all night, until the wanker arrives, at which point you'll have to look – and act – the part. That includes cuddles and buying me drinks."

The scruffy haired boy considered the deal thoughtfully, his mouth set in a pout.

"Alright," he agreed, "but what's this about a creepy moustache?"

"Makes you look older," Lucy told him as she went to stand. A flash of colour caught her eye though and she pulled it out from the clump of duvet; it was pair of very small lace knickers in a gorgeous dark blue. She raised an eyebrow at the now blushing James. "Who's the lucky girl?"

She smirked and tossed the tiny piece of lingerie at him as she got up to leave (she wasn't going to wait for an answer she knew wouldn't come without excessive coaxing).

"Thanks, Jemmy," she called out over her shoulder as she walked out of the bedroom in flash of attitude, black denim and flaming hair, "Knew I could count on you."

James remained on the floor staring after his cousin with a resigned smile, making a mental note to fore-go shaving for the week. She was a surprise, their cherry-bomb; Percy Weasley's daughter had turned out as polar as possible to her swotty, Ministry-loving father and sweet-natured mother, Audrey, and what Lucy Weasley wanted, Lucy Weasley got - that included aid on tap from her tangle of male cousins, and only the slightest amount of bribery for the girls.

**Hello, I've been reading some crazy and wonderful Next Generation fics with the less proclaimed and exclaimed about children, and I thought I'd give it a go. Hope you liked it.**

**Please, Read and Review Responsibly.**


	15. Day to Day

(614): Well, if your day started with strippers, then we're tied. Otherwise, I'm winning.

"**Life Race"**

Teddy Remus Lupin was no longer the little bundle of black haired five year old that Harry had spent his early Twenties raising as his own.

He was no longer the excitable red head starting at Hogwarts; no longer the Quidditch star of Hufflepuff; the teen heartthrob; heartbreaker; heartbroken.

Teddy was now twenty-three years young, his hair changing from red to purple to green to blue as he cradled a tumbler of Firewhiskey in his hand as it rested against the tabletop, body sunk low in a chair at the Potter's kitchen table.

The sun was hovering low in the sky, bathing the room in a pale gold glow when Harry Potter appeared in the doorway to find his godson cemented at the kitchen table.

"I've just had the best day." Teddy informed his new companion, his flashing hair finally settled back into its regular turquoise.

"I don't know," Harry responded cheerfully, "I think mine could top it."

"Well, if your day started with strippers, then we're tied. Otherwise, I'm winning."

Harry paused, stunned, for several long seconds before a look of absolute incredulity covered his face. Nope, Teddy was certainly not the tiny bundle of energy with hair scruffy and black in imitation of his Godfather.

An awkward silence descended on the two men and hovered in the air between them for several minutes as Harry gathered his courage and Teddy fixed his eyes on the glass still in his hand, willing down the blush now staining his cheeks as he realised exactly what he'd just confessed to his pseudo-parent. There were several moments where Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, rethinking whatever he had been considering saying, before he finally came to a decision that spared them both.

"I take it," the Boy Saviour said carefully, "that Finchwhistle's stag party was a success, then?"

Teddy grinned sheepishly, still pink, under his Godfather's green-eyed gaze.

"You could say that."

**Ha. Teddy and Harry must have a funny kind of relationship sometimes. **

**Read and Review Responsibly.**


	16. A Padfoot Kinda Christmas

(252): It must be Christmas-time – I've got a hankering to give a virgin a baby.

"**A Padfoot Kinda Christmas"**

There were times when Remus wondered about his sanity. Not because he transformed each full moon into a wild beast filled with bloodlust that made horror stories real, but because he willingly spent his time with two students who went by the names James Potter and Sirius Black.

He could, he supposed, argue that they were, both of them, very talented, bright young things who would no doubt do supremely well for themselves in the long run (annoyingly this included all of the following: love, money, fame, success, friends and fun (Remus couldn't help but feel the tiniest twinge of jealousy here because, of the preceding items, he could probably only look forward to one (and despite what Dumbledore implied every Christmas, Easter, Halloween and any other day that required a speech, friends could only do so much when you were Troubled (read, in Remus' particular case: a were-wolf)).

As it was, the only thing Sirius was doing for him right now was making him want to dig a hole and hide in it until the winter season passed into spring. He'd just announced to the Great Hall, "It must be Christmas-time – I've got a hankering to give a virgin a baby," then clapped his hands together with what could only be called a lascivious, lecherous leer at little Diana Dawlish, the angelic looking Hufflepuff in the year above.

"Oh Merlin," Remus said summarily, and let his head fall heavily to the tabletop as Sirius waggled his eyebrows at the pretty witch, drawing a vivid blush and much giggly babble. Lily, seated on Remus' left, patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, all the while glaring at Potter and Black – an act she'd mastered long ago (probably by their second year). The former of the Terrible Two – Slughorn had rather a sideline hobby, along with his celebrity-mongering, in nicknames – was trying to persuade her that he was making efforts to understand her world, hence the Christian Christmas reference Sirius had inadvertently let slip earlier than planned. Remus really thought James would've learned by now that Sirius and secrets went together like beef cheeks and lemon sorbet – that is to say, not at all – but his pondering was cut short.

Sirius stood up, and, with a truly breathtaking lack of tact, propositioned Diana with a lewd gyration in her general direction followed by a saucy wink.

At that moment, Remus would have believed in absolutely anything if it had only promised him he could hibernate until spring, when Sirius had no tales of virgins and gods to induce him further into impregnating witches.

**Haha. A bit late, but the inspiration arrived eventually. Please, Read and Review Responsibly.**


	17. Motherly Pride

(207): I told my mum I had sex with him and even _she_ was proud. Now that's saying something.

"**Motherly Pride"**

"He's twenty-nine."

The small audience of girls, numbering two and grouped these days more at the womanly end of spectrum, traded a variety of gasps, giggles and rude words, depending on their upbringing. Katie Bell rolled her eyes; honestly, her friends were so juvenile.

"It's barely nine years," she interpolated. "That's hardly anything when you consider how long magical folk live."

"Yes, but he's a Weasley," Alicia pointed out. "_The_ Weasley!"

Katie threw her a bewildered face. "What do you mean '_The_ Weasley'

Alicia and Angelina shared a look. One that said, I can't believe we have to explain this to her – has she been living under a rock?

"Charlie Weasley; sex god, dragon wrangler, Quidditch star and captain – they said he could've easily played for England if he hadn't caught the dragon fever and ended up in Romania!" Alicia exclaimed, aided by myriad flailing hand gestures to make sure her point was gotten across. Namely that Katie realised exactly who she was dating.

Not unexpectedly, the conversation took a turn for the worse when their third round of drinks arrived.

"So," Ang hedged. "What's he like?"

Katie snorted at her lack of subtlety but answered regardless. "Amazing" – that cued giggling – "but the strangest thing is that he gets on with my brothers like a house on fire. My brothers! All of them!"

"And you thought they'd castrate him," Alicia teased, happily sipping her rum punch through a straw. "I suppose he's had a lot of practice, being the second of seven, though."

"True," Katie conceded.

The conversation lulled for a while as they considered this, and then Ang said boldly, stressing the name, "I'm so impressed that you landed Charlie Weasley. He really is gorgeous."

"You know what the weirdest part is?" Katie told her two best friends. They waited expectantly, eager looks on both their faces. "I told my mum I had sex with him and even _she_ was proud."

Alicia almost sprayed her sip of Firewhiskey across the table.

"Now that's saying something."

All three broke into laughter.

**End.**

**I'd like to land Charlie Weasley. Please Read and Review Responsibly. If you don't review, it's like cruelty to authors :P**


	18. Tool Academy

(216): There are the two biggest tools by me - at our table. I hate them. But they're not ugly and I may make out with them later. And I hate myself. Definitely hate myself.

"**Tool Academy"**

Ministry balls were a bore. Daphne had held that opinion since her father had first brought her along at age fourteen to show her off to his pureblood friends in the hope that they might think her an acceptable wife for a wealthy son.

She was twenty-three now and her opinion hadn't wavered. Of course, now the nights could have a rather more exciting end, usually followed the next day by a raging hangover and a quick clothes collection before a dash out the backdoor of a strange man's house. This particular ball was celebrating the recent achievements of the Department of Magical Games and Cooperation (at least, she thought it was. She was really only here for the alcohol and man-meat).

Daphne was currently staving off boredom by searching out Pansy in the crowd of gorgeous witches who were flouncing about, gushing over old men about trivial things and laughing inanely at their tawdry jokes. It wasn't hard. She just had to look for a path of destruction and broken hearted ministry juniors.

Halfway through the night, two men, considerably younger than the majority, joined her at the table. She ogled them casually and discreetly. The taller of the two had long auburn hair tied back with a strip of red ribbon in the pureblood manner, but sported rather muggle-esque attire instead of the traditional dress robes. His friend was blond (though not naturally), his hair slicked back in a style that reminded her awfully of Draco Malfoy during his first two years at Hogwarts. She shuddered inwardly – it wasn't a haircut for grown men, not if they wanted to be taken seriously.

Their conversation was irritating and self-absorbed, and directing them toward the collective label of 'wankers'.

Yet, they were both inordinately attractive despite their obvious shortcomings. (Of course, this could have been the alcohol talking – or just the fact that they were under the age of sixty – she wasn't quite sure.)Downing the remainder of her drink, she honed in on Pansy who was standing near an older fellow, smiling flirtatiously as he murmured something in her ear.

Making a bee-line for her friend, she excused them both politely and tugged the black haired witch over to the balcony, stealing two glasses of champagne as they went.

"There are the two biggest tools by me - at our table," she updated Pansy, when they were off the main floor. "I hate them. But they're not ugly and I may make out with them later."

Sipping their champers, the pair ogled a waiter as he ambled by.

After a few seconds, Daphne added decisively: "And I hate myself. Definitely hate myself."

Pansy looked amused. "Why? That's a stupid thing to do."

"It's degrading."

"As long as it's a spectacular shag, who cares?"

"I care, Pansy."

"Why? Sex is just another form of exercise after the first time," the black haired witch shrugged and continued before Daphne could argue, "and I know for a fact that you aren't a virgin, sweetheart."

The blonde girl huffed resignedly. "It's like you're the devil sitting on my shoulder sometimes, Pans," she told her friend.

OoO

When Daphne slipped out the door of the blond wizard's apartment, shoes in hand, she shook her head, a half-smile on her pretty face; he'd looked so much better with his hair mussed – and it had been a truly magnificent shag.

**Haha, I love Pansy. She's frank, a bit of a biaatch, and a total man-eater, but I like her anyway. And Daphne is just a bit cool. If anyone was the Ice Queen of Slytherin, it was her.**


	19. Strange List

(607): I hate how you keep a running list of people who have seen me naked.

"**Strange List"**

"And Sophie makes fourteen," James Sirius Potter noted vigilantly, marking down the girl's name in a small notebook that he pulled out from his jeans pocket. His brother, Albus, glared at him, messy dark hair ruffled and skewed in every possible direction while his green eyes promised brotherly revenge.

"You know," James continued idly. "This list is really getting absurdly long. It's embarrassing."

"Don't feel obliged to keep it," Al snapped sarcastically.

James sighed heartily. "Albus, Albus, Albus… You just don't understand. This is my tool of revenge. When you turn seventeen it will reveal its contents to the world, and you will be mortified beyond belief but none of the adults will remember much because the Firewhiskey will block out the memories," he explained. "Of course, the kids will all remember, and that, my dear brother, is what makes it all worthwhile."

One might point out, here, that Albus Severus Potter was currently absolved of any type of clothing, and was holding a very small towel over his crotch to save what little face he had remaining. Sophie Templeton, visiting Lily, had quite enjoyed the view, truth-be-told, presented to her by Fred and Rose Weasley, regular guests at the Potter household who had little to no scruples and a penchant for mischief. To cut a long story short, Albus' clothes had vanished and a fourteen year old girl had been graced with the image of a very naked and profusely blushing Slytherin Quidditch Captain, before regaining her dulled sense and made herself a reasonably dignified exit, flushing pink.

"I'm still most impressed by last year's Halloween Fiasco." James hadn't stopped talking. He had a look of fond remembrance on his freckled face. "Seven unsuspecting seventh years-"

"That wasn't _my_ fault!" Albus cried defensively.

James grinned happily and put his notebook away, seemingly uncaring of the way he flirted with danger. Al kept his glower trained on his elder brother.

"You know," he told James in irritation, his voice low. "I really hate how you keep a running list of people who have seen me naked."

And then, in perfect comic timing, the floo flared emerald and out of it stepped frail, retired Professor McGonagall, her face revealing none of what she was thinking as she took in the unclothed Albus, the deceitfully angelic-looking James and, finally, the mercifully placed wash-towel. For a moment she stared at him, and then with superb self-control and dignity she walked through into the kitchen, not a sound passing through her lips.

James did his best to hold his poker face, but it lasted all of three seconds before he burst into guffawing laughter and fumbled to whip the little black book out again to mark in the illustrious name of Minerva McGonagall.

"I hate everyone," Albus said to no one in particular.

**End.**

**Harhar. :D Poor Al.**

**Please, Read and Review Responsibly, the author thanks you pre-emptively for your kindness. **


	20. Poker Night

(806): I'll see your cousin, and raise you a sister.

"**Poker Night"**

Poker games with Weasleys were always good value, Scorpius knew that from experience.

The different branches of the family tree all played for kicks rather than money, and amongst the bets that had been laid down over the years were dares, truths, and, often, unlimited power over one another for a predetermined period. And judging by the games Scorpius Malfoy had seen or participated in the adults weren't afraid of getting into the spirit of things either; in fact, Ginny Potter had rather a knack for getting out of doing chores (she was quite a dab hand at the game – learned, she said, at a tender age from the genius of her brothers George and Fred-may-he-rest-in-peace).

But this game, on the kitchen table of James Sirius' apartment, was looking to outstrip all of those; the stakes were about to be raised to levels as yet unseen even by the Weasleys.

The pile in the centre held mostly chocolate frog cards or Wheezes products, but Scorpius had a sudden flash of inspiration as Lily-Luna, looking for her wine glass, traipsed by the table in a black miniskirt that hugged her bum and probably related more to a belt than a skirt whatever way you looked at it. Her green shirt was so sheer it was practically transparent (he could her black bra with startling clarity, anyway), and her hair was hanging, dead straight, so that it framed her face.

He had a fully formed plan by the time she'd returned to the sitting room. Merlin! He prayed James would take the bait. Carefully, Scorpius wrote out two words on the parchment each player had by them for unusual bets.

"Elsa Nott," he said purposefully, placing the card in the middle of the table.

The bet was on the table, bigger than any chocolate frog card, even if it _was_ Severus Snape, the rarest of them all. He raised his eyes from his cards.

James was staring at him, and kept it up for a full five seconds. Scorpius figured it was to gauge his sincerity – after all, it was common knowledge among their mates that James carried a torch for the angelic blonde.

To give a little context, Elsa was the cousin of Scorpius, daughter of Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott, beautiful, sporting and brilliant, and the only girl who'd ever managed to keep her mind when James projected his brown-eyed boy gaze and crooked smile – in other words, the one girl who wouldn't dance to his piper's song.

Finally, James smirked devilishly. "Alright, we'll play it your way."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow and watched as James wrote out some nigh-illegible words on his own scrap of parchment. He finished, gave a final cursory glance to the words, and then slid it across the table. The Malfoy heir watched with deep-set anticipation.

"I'll see your cousin, and raise you a sister."

Hook. Line. Sinker.

He could have blessed Merlin, then and there, but right now he had a poker game to win.

When Lily ducked her head back into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, the intensity of their concentration was astounding.

**End.**

**I really enjoyed this one for some reason. Just something about it, I guess. But to the review-mongering efforts: Please, Read and Review with Vigour, it is much appreciated and makes rainbows on rainy days.**


	21. Smart Casual

(647): Changed my mind. Wearing a dress. Casual, with a side of breasts.

"**Smart Casual"**

Seamus was standing in front of the door to a fancy apartment on the fourth floor of a very posh building, partly wondering how he came to be there, and partly thanking any higher beings for the fact that he had the opportunity. From beyond the two-inch thick wood, voices drifted into the hall, fluctuating as the inhabitants wandered from room to room.

"_Oh, I thought you'd decided on the purple," _one girl was saying. _"It's so comely on you. And you said yesterday that you wanted to trial those new dress robes you purchased with Astoria last week."_

It sounded like Daphne Greengrass, a former classmate from Hogwarts. The tell-tale clatter of high heels on floorboards moved into the area directly behind the door and Pansy Parkinson's brusque speech emerged more clearly into the hall.

"_Changed my mind. Wearing a dress. Casual, with a side of breasts."_

Seamus almost choked on air. God almighty, someone up there had to be blessing him.

When the door to number nine opened, its numerals glinting gold in the faint light of dusk, it revealed Pansy, resplendent in a bright, tight-fitting, scarlet mini-dress, and Seamus had to school himself not to let his jaw drop to the ground.

"You look incredible," he managed, utterly gobsmacked. Pansy smiled coyly.

"Thought you'd like it," she replied, winking saucily. Then she pressed her red lips to his cheek, wiped the stain off in an expert movement, and pulled the door shut behind her. "Now, we have an entrance to make, Finnegan."

She tweaked his ear to break the stupor her appearance had settled him into, and then, laughing gaily, she tugged him into the elevator so they could make their way to the Apparition point.

Seamus gave an additional, grateful prayer up to any gods that might be listening.

**End.**

**Felt like a bit of PansySeamus, people were requesting a little more of our favourite Irishman, and so this emerged…**

**Please, Read and Review. Especially if you intend to Favourite. Please and Thank you.**


	22. Scrabble Dabble

(239): My scrabble letters just formed failure. Thanks God.

"**Scrabble Words"**

Draco let out a distressed groan and fell back to sprawl untidily in his chair while Pansy watched, amusement etched across her face. He kicked half-heartedly at several small tiles haphazardly spread on the board before him.

"You're too good at this damn muggle game, Pans," he complained.

"Comes from enjoying English lessons before we went to Hogwarts," she told him in her clipped tones. "You'd be better if you'd payed attention to Master Guilford all those years ago."

"You only listened because he was Professor Snape's mind inside Lockhart's doppelganger."

"Maybe so, but it's been beneficial on occasion. Now, keep playing. You know I hate to leave a game unfinished," she encouraged, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

Compliantly, Draco picked up two tiles and, after fiddling with them for several seconds – silent but for the lazy tapping of Pansy's heel on the floorboards – snorted indelicately.

"What?" Pansy asked curiously.

The blond sighed audibly. "My Scrabble letters just formed failure." He looked skywards, slumping in his chair again. "Thanks God. I always knew you were watching me too close for comfort."

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," Pansy laughed. "You can get twelve points for it if you put it here."

"You'll still beat me."

"I know. But I always beat you, so it doesn't signify," she reminded him, prodding him pleasantly with her heel and smiling so her dimple came out to play.

**End.**

**I liked the dynamics of this one. Pansy is one of my favourites in fan fiction, less so in canon for obvious reasons, but I like her to have a chance with redemption.**

**Please, Lisez et, um, erm,*fails to know French for review* Review Responsibly. Ta.**


	23. Official Warning

**Word of warning, there is a handful of f-bombs dropped in this drabble. You have been warned.**

(610): You told the cops that they couldn't arrest you because they weren't hot enough to fuck.

"**Official Warning"**

There were several things Angelina would have liked to have been aware of before taking Katie on a Girl's Night Out. The first was the unparalleled speed at which alcohol affected her; the second, her propensity for violence when intoxicated; and the third, the noticeable downward spiral regarding her usually polite language and Good Decision-making ability.

Naturally, everything had started out quite pleasantly: Angelina had invited Katie along with Alicia and a number of workmates for a bit of a party and a night out – celebrate being young and all that. Kates had always been a good laugh at Hogwarts, but younger than her other Chaser teammates by a year or so, she'd never really gotten in on the drinking while they were at school together. Now, however, they were in the real world, and they were planning on having a bloody good time of it.

Unfortunately, Katie had started with Firewhiskey. Hazardously, they'd allowed her to take shots. A poor decision, looking back on it, but then, the Past is always seen with twenty-twenty vision.

In the Present, however, Katie was busy sleeping on Angelina's couch, an arm flung over her tired, hung-over eyes, hugging a cushion tightly to her chest. She awoke, ungracefully, with a start that caused her to fall to the floor with a dull thud.

"Bugger it all," she said, her voice slightly muffled by the carpet. She rolled over, or tried to, anyway. There was a body sprawled beside her.

"Get off me, you tart," Alicia muttered groggily, pushing the younger girl out of her personal space. She groaned. "Oh, God, my _head_!"

"I don't remember anything," Katie said, lying limply on the ground in lieu of staggering to her feet as Ang stepped quietly out of the kitchen.

"You mightn't, but I do!" Alicia retorted. "Remind me never to go out drinking with you again."

"Why?"

Alicia pulled a cushion off the chair behind her, smothering her face with it.

Angelina piped up in her stead, "You told the cops that they couldn't arrest you because they weren't hot enough to fuck – your words."

"Well, fuck," Katie stated, summing up her feelings succinctly. Then she grimaced. "How did we even get to the cops?"

Alicia lifted the cushion to glare pointedly before hiding behind it once more.

"Ah."

"Yes, ah," Ang agreed. "You were flashing them, and every single other person who happened walked past us. Those three old men didn't seem to mind, though," she added thoughtfully. "Oh, and you assaulted one of the cops. Got him right in the jewels."

"And I'm not in a cell, how?" Katie asked judiciously, incredulity painted on her features.

"Alicia Confunded them. And I managed to Apparate us all out, without _any_ splinchings. You owe us a dri- a favour." Ang amended her response quickly, thinking that drinking probably wasn't the best idea, not after the catastrophe that was the night before. "You know, or _six_."

"I'm so sorry, guys," Kates said meekly.

Ang smiled kindly. "Hey, don't worry. No damage, other'n your hangover, but we could've done with a bit of warning. You're the very devil when you've alcohol in you."

"If it's any consolation, I had a great time with you two last night, from what I remember."

Alicia removed the cushion, grinning cheekily, all forgiveness and friendliness (as much as one who is hungover can muster, anyway), and threw it at Katie's head. "At least next time we'll be able to stop you from offending officers of the law," she laughed, adding fondly, "You crazy woman."

**End.**

**Please, Read and Review Responsibly.**


	24. Day After

**I've decided to conclude this little venture at the number 24, because it can be divided by four and six to equal – oh yeah – six and four!**

**Shout out to **_lowi_, _waterlit_, _xoRetributionox_, _Loslote_, **and** _Sasparilla123_ **for feeding me many lovely reviews for the last few chapters especially: thanks fellow members of the internerd, it totally makes my day to get such kind responses – this one's for you ^_^**

(720): You should probably wake up already as I have yet another story for you. Teaser? Blood from knife wound. Tequila. Guitar hero. Kitchen counter. Lawyer.

"**Day After"**

"OOF," wheezed Scorpius as an unknown object connected with his stomach. A foolproof way to rouse him from peaceful sleep it may have been, but one that he _appreciated_ it was not. Rubbing the wounded area, he looked about for the missile. It was a Quaffle, which had, unfortunately, been carried too far by momentum to allow him a decent return shot. Damn.

"You know, you should probably wake up already," a voice informed him from somewhere near his left ear, "-as I have yet another story for you." The groggy blond considered the benefits of tugging the covers over his head, but then decided that the owner of the voice would probably read that as a challenge, and to be quite frank, it was too bloody early to be dealing with that kind of crap.

"Teaser?" the voice offered pleasantly, and Scorpius forced himself to roll over and face his flatmate.

Louis Guillaume Weasley was an enigma. The black sheep of the Weasley tree; the Hufflepuff; the friend of Scorpius Hyperion-the-Ravenclaw-Malfoy–

Actually, when you thought of it like that it was really no surprise that they'd ended up renting a flat together. After all, misfits always get along better with other misfits – like attracts like and all that.

Louis was hovering, waiting for an answer and rocking back and forth like a child on a sugar high, and the young Malfoy's resolve crumbled in the face of so much energy.

"Fine," he grumbled croakily, his voice protesting use so early in the morning. It could only be – he glanced at the clock – ten thirty. Eeeeaaaarly.

It had been noted by many a Ravenclaw that the young Malfoy was not a morning person – the school term was a horrific experience for his poor dorm-mates – but Louis didn't seem to care. He grinned maniacally and proceeded to list things off his fingers: "Blood from knife wound – Tequila – Guitar Hero – kitchen counter – lawyer."

There was a moment of suspended silence where Louis continued to bounce up and down on the edge of the bed.

"Is that supposed to inspire pride?" Scorpius asked. "Because all I'm getting is dread."

"Oh, come on!" Louis implored. "It's not so bad. Look, the knife wound isn't even big!" He thrust his hand into Scorpius' unsuspecting face. A gash about four centimetres long had been carved into the exterior of his left hand, reaching along the fleshy part between thumb and fore-finger and turning the 'V' into more of a 'Y'.

"Ergh!" said Scorpius, propelling himself back against the headboard in a flailing movement. "That's disgusting!"

"It's just a flesh wound," Louis said defensively, cradling it comfortingly, as if Scorpius' reaction had hurt its feelings, while Scorpius cradled his face in the palms of his hands, wondering over his own sanity when he'd agreed to live with a Weasley.

"That's to do with the Tequila you mentioned, right?"

"Yeah!" Louis sounded politely surprised. "Hey, have you already heard this story?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I was cutting limes and lemons, which is a bad idea to do when you're drunk. And the knife was for cutting up meat carcasses, I'm pretty sure…so, yeah, that didn't help…I slipped and wound happened."

"Surprise, surprise," Scorpius mumbled sarcastically. He wiped his hands across his eyes, trying to inspire some wakefulness in his body.

"But this is where things start getting good, there's betting, a foxy hot lawyer lady – who, incidentally, wants to meet with me this week-" he waggled his eyebrows "-_and _a Guitar Hero battle."

Scorpius let dread settle comfortably in his gut. There were some things that he just knew, and at the moment, the sentence 'the hot lawyer wants to meet with me' didn't mean what Louis thought it meant.

Sometimes Scorpius really appreciated the inheritance he'd received upon reaching his majority.

Because _sometimes_ you needed to bail a friend out of trouble before he knew he was in it.

**Ended.**

**Please, Read and Review Responsibly. Thank you for coming along for the ride.**


End file.
